Finding Her Son

Mitch ended the call and sighed for Ricky’s sake. Mitch hoped this girl wasn’t Kayla. But if she wasn’t, then someone else’s family had a daughter who was dead, a grandchild who was missing, and they didn’t know anything had happened.

By the time he reached the coroner’s office, Mitch had contacted Kayla’s grandmother. He’d kept the questions lowkey, but he couldn’t fool her.

“You bring my girl home,” she’d said. “Either way.”

He entered the building housing the coroner and her staff and strode down the hall to the cracker box Ian laughingly called his office. The stench of formaldehyde and death rose to greet Mitch. He hated the odor in this place. Had since he’d been forced to visit as part of driver’s ed.

He rapped on the door and pushed it open to find his friend and a woman swallowed up in a white coat comparing two photos taped to a cork board. Mitch didn’t give Ian’s visitor a second look. He couldn’t stop looking at the pictures. One the high school photo of Kayla, the other—

“Is that Kayla?” His stomach churned at the sight of what was left of a blond-haired woman’s face. Truth be told, he could only tell the features were a woman because she didn’t have an Adam’s apple. Her eyes were missing, her nose had been gnawed away by animals. She barely looked human. He couldn’t show this body to Mrs. Foster. No way. No how.

One more reason to hate his temporary assignment and get back to SWAT.

Ian grimaced and stood, blocking Mitch’s view. “This is Dr. Tara O’Meare. She specializes in facial reconstruction and identification. Without dental records, I thought she could give us her opinion.”

The woman rose and shook Mitch’s hand.

“Is it Kayla?” he asked.

Dr. O’Meare shook her head. “No. When comparing the two photos, the distance between the zygomatic arches—the cheekbones—is wrong, and so is the position of the eyes. The girl found in the shallow grave is still a Jane Doe.”

“Her grandmother said Kayla didn’t have a tattoo, but I couldn’t be sure.”

“Grandmothers don’t always know everything,” Ian finished.

“Yeah. Even if the body we found isn’t Kayla, I still have a missing girl out there.” Mitch rubbed his eyes. A missing girl, a missing baby and a Jane Doe. Not to mention Joshua Wentworth. With Emily in the middle of it all. Which pieces fit where? He had to pull it apart section by section. Somehow. “At least for the moment, Mrs. Foster gets good news. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope you don’t call anytime soon except for a game of touch foot…” His voice trailed off.

“I’ll keep calling,” Ian said. “You let me know when you’re up for it.”

Avoiding a last look at the photos, Mitch exited the room. He tried not to breathe too deeply until he left the building, then sucked in the crisp winter air. After he inhaled several times through his nose and mouth, he could finally smell and taste the snow tumbling around him.

Once in his car, he slipped on his hands-free device and dialed Kayla’s grandmother’s number.

“Mitchell?” Mrs. Foster’s voice trembled as she said his name.

He hated hearing the uncertainty in the woman’s voice, but he couldn’t guarantee the next time he called, the news wouldn’t be what she dreaded to hear. “It wasn’t her.”

“Thank the Lord.” A small prayer slipped from the older woman’s lips. “You’ll keep looking?”

“Definitely. I have a deal with Ricky,” Mitch promised. “He shows up for practice—”

“Oh, he’ll be at practice, don’t you worry.”

“Mrs. Foster, you know I wouldn’t stop looking for Kayla, even if Ricky never—”

“I know, dear. You’ll find her.”

He disconnected the phone and immediately “Boomer Sooner” filtered through the car.

“Bradford.”

“Get your butt down here,” Dane Tanner barked. “Now.”

“What’s going on?”

“Your assignment just walked in the front door of the police department. Without you.”

Chapter Three

“Let me see Ghost,” Emily pleaded. “Or at least look through the tattoo database. It might jog my memory.”

Detective Dane Tanner clicked the door closed and sat behind the interview table sporting that same patient, dubious expression Emily had grown to hate over the past seven or eight months.

“What are you doing, Mrs. Wentworth?”

“Look, Detective, I know it seems far-fetched, but I’m on the verge of remembering.”

“Why Ghost? And where did this brainstorm come from so suddenly?”

Here we go again. Emily took in a slow, deep breath. “He has a tattoo.”

“Did you see it? Recognize it?”

“No, but my private investigator talked to—”

“Perry Young has a spotty reputation,” Tanner said. “I’ve reiterated this every time you’ve brought one of his leads to me. All going nowhere, I have to remind you. He’s a gambler and a drinker.” The detective shuffled through some papers. “He’s stringing you along for a steady paycheck.”

Not so steady anymore. That’s why she had to convince the detective to help her now.

“I got a flash of memory, Detective. If I could just see Ghost’s tattoo, or at least look at the books, I might recognize something. Ghost’s in custody, right? How tough would it be for me to talk to him?”

“I’m not breaking protocol because you had a vision. Go to a tattoo parlor.”

“I know what you think of me, Detective Tanner, but do it for the missing girls. Maybe Joshua and their babies are connected.”

“No infants have been reported missing or stolen. I’m sorry.” Dane steepled his fingers and rested them against his lips.

“A pregnant girl is missing.”

“And Kayla Foster’s grandmother reported her. This MO’s not a fit for Joshua’s disappearance. It’s none of your concern.”

She launched out of her chair and leaned over the desk. “You can’t turn your back on the vulnerable. Joshua is only thirteen months old. He’s alone.” She hated the idea of begging—especially to the detective who didn’t trust her—but she’d do anything for her son. She knew the statistics, the chances of getting him back. Infants taken who weren’t returned within a few weeks were almost never found. The numbers didn’t matter. Joshua would be the exception. She grabbed the age-progressed photo from her satchel and shoved it at him. “Please. Ghost tried to force Heather to go with him. You have to help those girls. I can help, too, if you’ll let me.”

“I’ll pass the information to the officer in charge of the assault case. That’s the best I can do. You, however, couldn’t have come in at a better time.” The detective slid a document across the table. “Is that your signature?”

Emily stuffed the photo back into her bag, scanned the paper and lifted her chin. “You want to quiz me about money or bank forms, call my lawyer. My son is out there, and I need help to find him. If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will.”

She slammed out of the interrogation room, the wooden door banging behind her, and sagged against the wall. Her heart pounded as reality set in. The Wentworths had closed nearly every door. She’d have to scrape together enough money for an attorney and for Perry. God help her if they blocked the sale of the house somehow.